There are two large fans positioned on the floor of the room, facing each other. The faces of the fans are connected by a tube of fabric that inflates and deflates as the fans alternate in turning off and on. At the beginning of the performance, this long fabric tube was folded in on itself, only exposing an outer membrane of 27 feet. After entering the tube on one end, I expanded it in segments through a series of interior zippers that released the full 72 feet of the tube across a twelve-minute performance. I squirmed my way through the tube during alternating states of having each fan turn on for twelve seconds with twelve seconds of deflating rest in between. Although this piece was able to safely expand in other spaces, in this particular room there was not enough space for the full 72 feet to unfold. This restriction resulted in the tube becoming chronically tangled and knotted as I unknowingly navigated the interior landscape of the spaghetti labyrinth. When this happened, two audience members and my mom, who was very stressed about the situation, jumped into action as they work together to untangle the tube, allowing me to continue my meandrous journey. I was able to finish the performance without getting stuck and I apologized for accidentally using my mother’s adrenaline without her consent.

Ironically, this piece came to fruition after I was hospitalized for a bowel obstruction during my time in graduate school. By running the fans through this tube, I considered the states of the body that involuntarily disengage digestion (fight or flight mode) versus the states of the body that allow for rest and digestion to occur (parasympathetic dominance). Because of this, it came as no surprise when the path of the tube became obstructed and my mom’s body was the first to respond in calibrating to the state of the tube, as if the problem within my gut rippled outward into hers.